


What comes after?

by VarjoRuusu



Category: Robin Hood (BBC 2006)
Genre: Anger, Angst, Canonical Character Death, Depression, F/M, Forgiveness, Hurt, I'm Bad At Summaries, Jagged Head Space, M/M, Messy Thoughts, Redemption, Season 3 AU, Slow Burn, Suicidal Thoughts, very slow burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-25
Updated: 2017-05-25
Packaged: 2018-10-13 21:07:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10521885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VarjoRuusu/pseuds/VarjoRuusu
Summary: After Marian dies Guy finds himself abandoned in the Holy Land. He barters passage back to France, finding out after weeks in a drunk stupor that he shares a ship with Robin, who has also spent much of the past six weeks at the bottom of a wine goblet. Between the anger and the hurt they reach and understanding and return to England together to deal with Vaisey and John's newest plots to take the throne.Season 3AU





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story is very much one that runs around mostly inside Guy's head after he kills Marian, but there is a good amount of Robin's angst as well. Having recently re-watched season 3 I was actually quite pleased by the level of emotional breakage they managed to portray and this story started itself as a result. While I appreciated a lot of the writing, I also disliked a good deal, so here is a very basic (most of the other characters don't show up or interact) season 3 AU. It wasn't meant to be a season 3 AU, it wasn't supposed to encompass that much, I swear...anyway...
> 
> Also, this was a tiny tiny speck that spiraled, somewhat uncontrollably. I never planned for this many thousands of works. I thought 2k, tops. 0.0 I also wasn't planning on posting it in pieces, but there are a couple gaps that I still have to fill near the end before I can post all of it, so I broke it down into a few pieces to start posting. I promise I won't leave it unfinished. :)

The first thing he felt when he tried to open his eyes was pain. Pain was no stranger to Guy of Gisborne, but of late it had become a constant companion, both in his heart and in his head, ever since Marian had died.

Guy's eyelids fluttered enough to see he was still on the ship, the ship that was supposed to take him back to England and he groaned, reaching for the wine jug beside him. He had been this way since he boarded the ship, a constant cycle of hungover and drunk, over and over again. He hadn't been on deck in three weeks, he hadn't left his cabin at all. Five weeks they'd been at sea, only putting into port once in Sicily for a few days. It was the only time the captain had disturbed him, to ask if he needed anything from shore. Guy had only growled to make sure there was enough wine aboard for the rest of the journey and thrown a few coins at the man. Otherwise he had been left alone the whole journey, with a kitchen boy bringing him a plate of food twice a day and leaving it just inside the door without entering. It was rarely touched and if Guy had been sober enough to care, he suspected the boy ate most of it when he traded it for a fresh plate.

The guilt and pain of what had happened in Acre were eating at Guy's mind slowly, the horror at what he had done. He had killed Marian, the only person who had ever made the world seem a little brighter. Right up to the end she had seen the good in him, the good he hadn't let himself show. She knew who he was under all the armor and the barbs, the cruelty and the foul temper and how had he repaid her? With a sword through her stomach. He never wanted to prover her wrong, but in that moment he truly had. He hadn't even been able to run as he saw the blood blooming on her dress. One of the men the sheriff had hired had to drag him away as Robin came running into the courtyard, just in time to catch Marian as she fell.

Guy thought Robin may have looked at him, may have wanted to go for him with a blade, but he was too in shock to know for sure. All he could do was stare, wonder what he had done. Wonder if she would survive as he ran through the streets of Acre, body propelled by pure instinct and adrenaline.

She hadn't lived, he found out later, and since that moment he hadn't been sober. Vaisey had left him to make his own escape and eventually, after a week of drinking, Guy managed to barter passage on a ship that would sail to France, where he could ride to Calais and return to England. He still hadn't worked out how to ride while drunk, but he had no intention of sobering up. Drink was the only thing that kept the demons even a little at bay.

Every moment he was conscious the voices plagued him. Vaisey's egging him on, Marian's pleading with him, either to turn on the sheriff or for mercy, Robin's accusing him of all his crimes. Even with the drink, the voices still tortured him. Every time he fell asleep he saw his sister Isabella's face as she was dragged away to marry a man fifteen years her senior. Every time he turned he saw the fire that took his mother and father from him. Every time he jerked awake it was with blood on his hands.

He was being crushed by the guilt, drowning in the pain he had caused. He couldn't stay in the cabin any longer, he needed air or he would suffocate in the huge floating coffin. Tugging a filthy shirt over his head and grabbing a wineskin, Guy stood on trembling legs, forcing his way out of the cabin and up on the deck, hands grasping at every surface he passed to keep him on his feet.

Guy stumbled against the railing, the rain soaking his linen shirt and sticking the scratchy fabric to his skin. He turned his face into the water falling from the sky and sighed, his hand clutching the wineskin just a little looser. He tilted his head back to take a swig when he caught sight of someone sitting amongst the rope coils, uncaring of the rain pelting down on them. He squinted in the dim light, moving closer until he could see the full outline of someone.

His hair was longer, his beard was full and unkempt and his clothes were filthy, like he'd been in numerous fights and never bothered to wash, but under it all there was no mistaking Robin Hood. The chances that he was on the same ship as Guy, that he likely had been the last five weeks, were astoundingly slim. Guy glanced around the deck, not seeing any of Robin's cohorts and wondered if perhaps it was just the two of them, alone on this ship. If Robin had followed him, he would have been dead already. He could only imagine it was an act of god, putting them here together.

Coming closer he expected Robin to react, to come at him with a knife, something, anything. Instead his eyes stared at the deck, vacant. After a moment he moved, raising his own wineskin to his lips to drink, only to frown in confusion when he found it empty. Guy glanced down at his hand and then crouched in front of Robin, holding the skin out to get his attention.

Robin looked up and it took several moments for his eyes to focus. Even in the rain, Guy could tell he was crying. When Robin did finally recognize who was in front of him, he instinctively groped for a knife that wasn't there, making a token effort before giving up and burying his face in his hands, too tired or too drunk to attack Guy. Guy held out the wineskin and nudged Robin's arm with it, surprising the other man who looked up, then took the skin and took a long drink, coughing as the bitter liquid sloshed down his throat.

The ship rolled and Guy fell to the side, sitting on the deck opposite Robin. He didn't try to get up again. He was watching the younger man, wary despite the fact that he had seen there was no fight left in him. The rain began to subside as Robin took another drink then handed the skin back. Guy grasped it and took a swig. He didn't know what prompted him to share the wine, only that he knew what Robin was feeling. Even if his pain were only a fraction of Robin's, he understood.

“Does it help?” Robin asked, his voice horse like he hadn't used it in almost six weeks. To be fair, he probably hadn't. Guy hadn't spoken since he had boarded the ship. He glanced down at the wine and then shook his head.

“Only for a moment,” he said quietly, his voice just as rough. “Then it all comes rushing back.”

Robin nodded, fresh tears welling in his eyes and Guy passed the skin back before standing shakily and leaving Robin to his own misery. Guy had more wine back in his cabin and he didn't want to be near Robin. He had enough of his own pain, he didn't need the extra guilt that came with seeing how he had destroyed the man who had once been his closest friend.

When he got back to his cabin Guy drank straight from the jug until he passed out and blissfully slept without nightmares for the first time since he left Acre.

Two nights later he wandered up on deck again, a fresh wineskin in his hand. He had paid the crew to always keep him supplied, every moment of every day. He knew he was slowly committing suicide with the drink, but he didn't care. He couldn't live with his mind sober. The wine was the only thing that had kept him from pitching himself overboard in the first week.

After making two circuits of the deck he finally spotted Robin, this time with his back leaning against the main mast. He had been hidden in the shadows and Guy only spotted him when the watchman passed with a lantern. He made his way over unsteadily and sank to the deck beside Robin, not quite close enough to touch, but closer than he'd ever expected to be again without a knife through his neck.

“Why are you here?” Robin asked quietly, not looking at Guy. Guy wasn't sure if he meant here on the deck with Robin, or here on the ship back to England. He chose the latter to answer, since he had none for the first.

“I've nowhere to go but back to England. Vaisey left me for dead in the Holy Land. I suppose getting on this ship was instinct, else I'd be dead in a gutter somewhere,” Guy shrugged, taking a deep drink from his wine.

“Starting fights, Gisborne? That doesn't sound like you,” Robin muttered, no laughter in his taunting words, where once there would have been.

“It seemed like a good way to end it,” Guy mumbled, staring straight ahead at the wall of the ships railing.

“Didn't work though, did it,” Robin said, his hand reaching for the wine. Guy noticed he hadn't brought either his own skin or the one that Guy had left before. Without a word he handed it over.

“You don't look like you've kept out of trouble,” Guy pointed out, not really addressing the question. “Shouldn't it be easy to be stabbed in a bar fight? Especially in Acre? Especially being English?”

Robin shrugged. “I supposed even drunk I'm better than they are.”

“Yeah,” Guy breathed, staring up at the stars. Tonight the sky was clear with hardly a hint of a breeze. They barely moved across the water, sitting, waiting for a wind to come to carry them the west of the way to France. He though of the fights he'd gotten into. He was sure there had been more than one casualty, but somehow he'd always escaped the fight and the authorities unscathed.

“I could kill you now,” Robin said quietly, no conviction in his voice. Glancing at him, Guy reached down and tugged the dagger from his boot and tossed it on the deck between them, offering Robin his chance. Robin stared at it and then looked at Guy, really looked.

Robin could only imagine what he looked like, he hadn't bathed in weeks, combed his hair, shaved, nothing. It had all gone by the wayside in the wake of Marian's death and the crushing grief that had overwhelmed him. He had run from his friends, left them in Acre searching high and low until finally they had given up and taken another ship to England, assuming he was dead or staying, he didn't know which. He knew he must look awful and smell worse, but Guy...Guy was broken. There was no other word for it. His eyes were hollow and dead and his skin was yellow. A healer in Jerusalem had once warned Robin that if one drank to much and the skin began to yellow, they were approaching death if they continued to drink. He imagined his skin was beginning to look much the same.

Reaching for the knife with trembling fingers Robin held it up to catch the weak moon and star light, briefly wondering how long it would take him to die if he cut open his arm. Without a word the knife was plucked from his hands and Guy tucked it back in his boot.

“Kill me or don't, but you're not harming yourself with it,” Guy muttered, having seen the look on Robin's face, recognizing the anguish plain in his thoughts.

“Why not?” Robin asked, turing his head to look at the sky.

“She would not forgive you,” Guy whispered, almost to quietly to hear. He hadn't meant to bring up Marian, but he wasn't about to let Robin do himself harm. He wouldn't have both their deaths on his conscience. A heavy silence lay over them for long minutes.

“She forgave you, at the end,” Robin managed to say eventually. Every word hurt like a dagger to his heart, but he had promised her that he would tell Gisborne that she did, that she forgave him with her dying breaths. “But I cannot forgive you.”

“I cannot forgive myself,” Guy said weakly. “Her presence was the only thing that made my life bearable. She was the only one who believed I was still that foolish, hopeful boy that I lost so many years ago. She believed I could return to being...good,” he spat the last word like it was dirt, wishing to any god listening that he could have been stronger, for her.

“She thought she saw the good in everyone,” Robin sighed. “Even those who had none left.”

“She saw no good in the sheriff,” Guy said, taking the wineskin back from Robin's limp hand. “I will kill him myself when I find him again.”

“If you can even hold a sword,” Robin said, a hint of malice returning to his voice, which had otherwise been flat and devoid of emotion up until then.

“I will find a way,” Guy said, taking a long drink of wine and passing it back to Robin without a thought, watching the other man drink deeply.

“I will kill you, one day,” Robin promised and Guy nodded, not speaking as they emptied the wineskin.

It became a habit over the new two weeks. Guy would come on deck and find Robin, both uncaring of the weather, be it clear or rain, and they would drink until one of them was close to passing out. Once or twice Guy woke with his head pillowed on Robin's shoulder, or Robin's on his, and occasionally back in his own cabin, no doubt carried there by the crew. No one said anything to them about their nightly ritual, but given the small fortune Guy had paid for their silence and discretion, he didn't expect to hear from any of them.

“She would not want this,” Guy said one night, his head resting against the rail, his feet stretched out by Robin's. “She would want us to move on. However that may be. With my death if needs be.”

“Why should I kill you now?” Robin asked, frowning at his empty hands. Guy may have paid off the crew to keep him in a supply of wine, but Robin hadn't had that kind of coin, and he was shaking too badly to pick the lock and steal more. “You are in a living hell, just as I am. I do not see why you should have relief so quickly.”

“No, because then I would be in actual hell which can only be ten times worse than this,” Guy snapped. “At least when you die, she'll be waiting for you.”

“If I killed you, she wouldn't be,” Robin said, turning away. The wineskin appeared in his field of vision and he reached for it, taking a long drink. “Why didn't you kill the sheriff?” he asked after a few moments. “Why didn't you stand up to him?”

“Because I am weak,” Guy said angrily, digging chunks from a crate in front of him with his dagger. “I wasn't strong enough to take control of my own life. After my parents died I had to do everything for Isabella, we had nothing left. I hired myself out as a swordsman when I was old enough and by the time I thought to break the pattern of...servitude,” he spat, “it was too late. Vaisey already had me tangled so deep in his web there was no hope of escape.”

“And you would accept help from no one,” Robin muttered reaching for the skin that Guy had taken back. “You always were a prideful fool.”

“What else did I have by my pride? My father was a leper and my mother was a whore. You never knew it but she had another child, a child that wasn't my fathers. I don't know who fathered the boy but she fell pregnant after my father was exiled from the village. Not long, but long enough.”

“I didn't know,” Robin shook his head. “I only know that I offered to help you and Isabella after the fire and you turned me down. You left, and I didn't see you again until three years ago. Almost twenty years and you hadn't changed.”

“I changed more than you could possibly imagine,” Guy growled, trying and failing not to think of those years after he and his sister had been made orphans. He tried not to think of how he had worked night and day to keep her fed and clothed, finally having to barter her away in marriage simply to make sure she wouldn't starve. He tried not to think of the things he'd had to do to survive when he was eleven years old.

“Enough of this,” Guy growled, pushing himself up from the ground and storming below into his cabin, passing out nearly the moment his head hit the pillow, wine forgotten.

The next day, Robin was emptying what little was in his stomach over the side of the ship when Guy found him in the early evening.

“Seasick, Locksley?” Guy taunted, holding out the newly filled wineskin. He had emptied it when he woke in the afternoon, then found someone to refill it for him before he came up on deck. Robin just shook his head, wiping sweat from his brow.

“I won't kill myself with drink,” he muttered, taking a deep breath to try and steady himself.

“You say it as if you think I plan to do just that,” Guy said with a smirk as he took a drink. Robin looked at him with a critical eye.

“You already are. Look at your skin.”

Guy glanced at his hand.

“See how it's yellowing? That means you'll be dead soon.”

Guy shrugged and raised the skin again, only to have it ripped from his hands and flung into the sea. His fist connected with Robin's face before he knew what was happening and moments later they were on the deck, rolling across the boards, punching and kicking anything they could reach.

With the last of his strength Guy threw Robin over his head, the other man landing on the deck with a thud and not moving, his head lying near Guy's as they both panted, the top of his head brushing Guy's shoulder. They started up at the darkening sky, trying to catch their breath, the pain of their fight not really registering yet.

“I won't let you kill yourself,” Robin said quietly.

“I cannot live with the demons,” Guy said just as quietly, tears welling in his eyes. “Drink is all that keeps them at bay. Death would silence them for good.”

“I know,” Robin said, his own tears running down his face. “But she wouldn't want this.” He turned his head and pressed his forehead against Guy's hair. “She wouldn't want this,” he whispered, sobbing in ernest now. “If she saw us now...”

“She's take our ears off,” Guy chuckled, raising a hand to tug on his hair, the pain distracting him a little from the thoughts of being sober. Robin saw the movement and reached for Guy, clutching his hand tightly, feeling the grip returned with just as much force.

“I won't let you,” Robin repeated and Guy forced a laugh.

“Still a bleeding heart, Hood,” he scoffed around his sobs and Robin's hand tightened.

“Not bleeding,” he muttered. “Shattered.”

Guy nodded, sighing as his eyes drifted shut. A while later he woke to Robin tugging him up off the deck and they stumbled below together, Robin continuing deeper into the ship as Guy fell into his room and collapsed on his bunk, too tired to even reach for the wine jug that still sat on the chair.

The next morning the jug was gone and Guy was leaning over the side, emptying his own stomach when Robin's hand landed on his shoulder. Guy glowered at the other man through the filthy curtain of his matted hair, thinking about refusing the water jug Robin was holding out. A minute later he took it, unable to stand the foul taste in his mouth any longer.

“What had you done with my wine?” Guy rasped, spitting a mouthful of water out, the taste only clearing slightly.

“I told the crew you didn't want it anymore. They've locked it away in the hold,” Robin sighed, rubbing his head as he leaned against the rail. “They'll sell it when we reach France, or drink it themselves.”

“I may kill you for this,” Guy muttered, his stomach lurching. Robin chuckled darkly.

“You may try, Gisborne,” he replied, staring out at the sea.

Guy slept for the better part of the next few days, only managing to eat now and then, and empty his stomach as often as he tried to fill it. Finally he'd had enough and he went to Robin's cabin, ready to demand the return of his spirits. He froze as soon as he stepped over the threshold. The room was empty, a single bag on the ground near the bunk and a blanket tossed in one corner haphazardly. Guy frowned, moving closer and tugging the rough spun blanket aside, revealing the bow he was so accustomed to seeing pointed in his direction. It had been snapped in half, as had all the arrows.

“Fool,” he muttered, leaving the bow and going in search of Robin, his quest for wine forgotten. He found the other man on the deck, watching the water. Guy squinted in the sunlight as he came to stand by Robin, his thoughts of berating him about the bow suddenly gone like smoke in the night. They stood in silence for long moments before Guy spoke again, his mind bouncing from one thought to the next, now that it wasn't occupied by drink.

“Can you swim?” he asked, staring at the open water sitting calmly around them. The day was clear and quiet, again no wind to speak of. Their journey had been delayed at least two weeks, the captain had said, keeping them on the water far longer than they would have, the wind refusing to push them toward France.

“Of course I can swim,” Robin growled, a hint of his old passion resurfacing.

“Good,” Guy said, the only warning before he grabbed Robin by the back of his shirt and threw him overboard. He surfaced a moment later, sputtering and Guy laughed, a deep full bellied laugh, like he hadn't laughed in years. Robin looked like a drowning rat, glaring up at him from where he tread water. Around them the crew were shaking their heads and muttering in their language, seemingly trying to decide if they should intervene.

“What was that for?” Robin demanded, swimming closer to the ship.

“You stink, Locksley,” Guy said calmly, his mirth having died away. Robin's eyes snapped up to his and a deadly smirk curled across his mouth.

“So do you, Gisborne,” he said and Guy shrugged. Stepping back he pulled off his filthy shirt and socks, not having bothered with boots since he boarded the ship. He pulled himself onto the rail and looked down at the water for a moment before he jumped. His head sunk as he plowed into the water and he suddenly thought how easy it would be to just let go, let himself sink.

“Oh you no you don't,” Robin hissed, diving and grabbing Guy's arm, pulling them to the surface. Guy's back rested against Robin's chest as the smaller kept them afloat with one arm, the other keeping Guy tethered to him.

“You don't get to take the easy way out, Gisborne,” Robin whispered harshly in his ear, swimming toward the ship and grabbing the rope someone had thrown in the water for them.

Guy shook his head, brushing wet hair out of his eyes as he pulled away and stared at Robin, his fingers gripping the wood of the ship to keep himself up. Robin's eyes were hard and angry, perhaps displaying the most emotion that had in weeks.

“Giving up isn't easy,” he said quietly. “It's no easier than putting one foot in front of the other and living.”

“Then why do you do it?” Robin demanded.

“Why do you?” Guy snapped. “I saw how you looked at that knife. You were ready to cut yourself open that night.”

Robin clenched his jaw, unwilling to turn away from Guy's stare, but he was right. Robin had been ready to end it all. Even now he wasn't sure what had changed, but Guy's words about Marian had brought him back from the brink, reminding him that she would have wanted him to live, and live he would. For her. Ignoring Guy he climbed back onto the ship and someone passed him a towel.

Sighing, Guy let go of the ship, striking out into the water and swimming faster than the ship was moving, not hard considering the lack of wind. The movement felt good in his muscles and by the time he pulled himself back on the ship, he was exhausted, but his head was fully cleared from the drink.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Guy and Robin reach France and then on to England.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the shorter chapter, I wanted to update with something and it seemed like a good place to pause events.

Three days later they finally reached France, landing in a small port in the southeast where they could find lodging and horses. They didn't speak as they left the ship together, Robin's small pack over his shoulder and ruined bow nowhere in sight. Guy was the only one with coin left so he bartered for rooms and baths for them, sent a girl out of find them fresh clothes, and a boy to buy them strong horses. Robin disappeared into his room without a word to Guy.

Later, sitting in a tub of lukewarm water Guy tried to drag a comb through his hair, cursing at every knot and snarl that stopped him. His skin was cleaner then it had been in months but his hair was so tangled he wasn't sure he'd be able to comb it without cutting it off.

Robin appeared around the door at the sound of his loud cursing, washed and shaved, his beard gone entirely and his hair tied back at the base of his neck. Guy frowned and ignored him, still tugging on the comb, even though he noted the changes out of the corner of his eye.

“Put your head under the water,” Robin said quietly. “It helps.” He turned and walked away without another word, leaving Guy staring after him and desperately wishing he had some wine or ale. He sunk his head and pulled the tangles out of his hair, the water loosening them and clearing the dirt, just as Robin had said. He didn't bother to do anything with his beard other than pull the comb through it before he fell into bed, exhausted.

They set off the next morning and rode for near three weeks, camping by the road and once staying at an inn, until they came in sight of Paris. Robin reined in his horse, causing Guy to stop and turn in the saddle, looking at him questioningly.

“Why are we going back?” Robin asked quietly. It was the first time either has spoken more than a passing necessity since the day they landed. “There's nothing left in England. For either of us.”

“You'd give up your crusade to stop the sheriff and feed the poor?” Guy scoffed. “You and I will spend the rest of our lives living by what Marian would have approved of. She would not forgive you for abandoning the people of Nottingham.”

Robin sighed, hanging his head. Guy was right, much as he hated to admit it. They were both bound to this hell of guilt and torment, and while the last thing on his mind was returning to Nottingham, he knew he would never find peace unless he did.

On the night before they sailed from Calais, Guy slipped from the inn and into the city, intent on finding a shop to suit what he needed. After almost an hour of searching he found what he was looking for and the next morning as the ship sailed for Dover, he pressed a new bow and quiver of arrows into Robin's hands without a word. Robin stared after him as he headed into the hold, fingers tight around the saracen bow.

When they landed at Dover the next night, the longer hair and thick beards, Robin's having grown back in the month since they landed in France, proved to be of great use on the road north. People who should have recognized them had no idea who they spoke to, with both of them dressed in well worn French peasants clothes, their hair covering most of their features. They even encountered Allen on the road once, but he didn't even give them a second look.

“Will you tell them you're back?” Guy asked after they'd seen Allen, as they sat at their campfire eating the rabbit Robin had caught with a snare earlier. He still refused to shoot the new bow, even with Guy egging him on constantly. He was too afraid he wouldn't be able to shoot straight anymore. He hadn't said anything, but Guy understood. It was why he'd found Robin's old bow in pieces on the ship.

Robin just shook his head. “I wouldn't know what to say,” he said quietly, alert for sounds in the forest. Technically they weren't in Sherwood yet, but they were close, within maybe twenty leagues. Soon they would have to start staying at an inn to avoid the possibility of running into the gang. It at least answered the question of if they had made it back to England safely, something that brought some relief to Robin, who hadn't know what became of his friends after Acre.

“Do you have a plan?” Guy asked, poking the fire absently with one of the swords they had bartered for in the last town. Drawing closer to Nottingham meant neither of them were comfortable traveling armed with a single dagger each, and in Robin's case, a bow he wouldn't use.

“No,” Robin hung his head. “I will kill the sheriff, I will stop whatever new plots Prince John may have come up with to steal the throne. I don't know how, but I will do it.”

“The sheriff is mine,” Guy growled, stabbing the coals a little harder.

“He will die by whoever's blade reaches him first,” Robin said, unwilling to start a fight. He wanted Vaisey dead, at the point he didn't really care how it happened. He was too exhausted, too ready to be done fighting.

“It should be me,” Guy said quietly. “You have enough blood on your hands.”

“You mean Marian wouldn't forgive me for killing again?” Robin snapped. Guy looked across the fire and their eyes met, holding each other silently, the air stirring between them with a light breeze.

“You shouldn't always have to ask her forgiveness,” he said and Robin sighed, standing and pacing just outside the circle of firelight. “Whatever she said, I know she wouldn't forgive me. I have nothing to lose.”

“That's not true,” Robin muttered and Guy watched him, waiting for him to continue. He didn't, and after a while he sighed and sat back on the log he had occupied earlier and dragged his hands through his hair.

“We need to get into the castle,” Robin said at last.

“All the exits are blocked, we won't find a way in,” Guy said quietly. “Allen made sure of that.”

“Allen didn't know all the secret entrances,” Robin grinned. “You think I trusted any of my men with every single passage? You're getting slow, Gisborne.”

“What do you want inside the castle anyway?” Guy asked, aggravated but unwilling to react.

“I want to get a read on the sheriff and his plans. Rumor has it that Prince John is here in Nottingham, right now.”

“Rumor around Nottingham can easily be just that. Rumor,” Guy mumbled. “Remember when the rumor was that King Richard was coming to Nottingham? The people lapped it up like fresh milk.”

Robin sighed, tugging his hair. “If I don't do something, I'll go mad,” he admitted quietly. “Even if it's pointless in the end, I can't just sit here and do nothing. I came back to fight.”

“As did I, but I don't see what you expect to accomplish by sneaking into the castle.”

“We'll know if there's an open passage left,” Robin said, throwing his hands up. “That will have to be enough for now.”

Guy grumbled quietly but didn't bother to comment. He watched the fire die down in silence until exhaustion overcame him and he wrapped a blanket around himself and fell asleep with his back to the embers. Robin shook out of his stupor when Guy settled in and he sighed, tossing a few more logs on the fire to keep it going. They hadn't talked about taking watch, but Robin imagined it would be smarter for one of them to be awake through the night, in case someone, anyone, came across them.

The night passed quietly, Robin alternating watching the moon and stars through the trees, and the traveling companion that at gone from friend, to irritation, to enemy, to...something else. They weren't friends, but neither were they trying to kill each other. Something had shifted on that ship, and they had come to a silent understanding that killing each other was utterly pointless, for a variety of reasons.

Robin was tired of killing, tired of death. He meant what he said, he came back to England to fight, but he took no joy in it. He knew he'd kill again before the end and he found no peace in the thought that it was for a just cause. Killing was killing, no matter what you said about it.

Sighing, Robin scrubbed his face with his hands, scratching his beard absently as he watched Guy sleeping. Robin had lost count of the number of times he'd been woken by the other man tossing in his sleep, plagued by some nightmare of the Holy Land. Even when they stayed at an inn, Robin had woken in the night more than once and had to go to Guy and shake him awake to break him from the dream. It was usually after Robin drifted back to sleep that he would descend into his own nightmares and Guy, not having been able to go back to sleep, would have shaken him awake.

As the moon moved through the sky Robin was relieved to see that tonight seemed to be one of the few when Guy wouldn't be plagued by the dreams and when the sun began to rise, Robin started packing up the camp quietly, not willing to wake the other man until they were ready move.

When Guy stirred a while later, woken by a noise, he noticed Robin was already awake and moving about their small camp. He frowned, squinting at the space around the fire and quickly coming to the conclusion that Robin had been up all night. The leaves were undisturbed and Robin's pack was bedroll was still where he left it the night before.

“Did you sleep?” he asked, even though he knew the answer. Robin shook his head, tucking a few things back in his pack and tying it to his already saddled horse. “You should have woken me,” Guy mumbled, folding up the blanket and standing, stretching the stiffness out of his muscles. What he wouldn't give to sleep in a bed again, instead of on the ground.

“I couldn't sleep anyways. Besides, you needed the rest.”

Guy rolled his eyes and tossed the blanket at Robin's head. “We stop at an inn tonight,” he said with all the authority he could around a yawn. “You'll do no one any good if you're dead on your feet.”

Robin smiled a little, his face turned away from Guy as he fiddled with the saddle. He shook his head briefly before he tossed and apple over his shoulder to Guy, who caught it and took a bite as he kicked dirt over the remains of their fire.

They drew ever closer to Sherwood as the hours passed and Robin knew soon he'd have to face some of his more painful demons. He'd see his home again, he's see Marian's. Everything that had become numb over the last several weeks was going to come raging back to the surface again. Robin glanced over at Guy, silent in the saddle as their horses walked slowly along the north road. He would be returning once again to the place his parents died and now he'd have the guilt about Marian on top of it.

Robin sighed, turing his face to the sun, squinting as he assessed it was just past midday and they could still accomplish several hours of riding. He hoped to be somewhere within a day's ride of Nottingham, and for all the numerous reasons, they would have to find an inn.

When they finally arrived in a suitable town that evening, the inn had only one room left and they looked at each other for long moments, as if each running through the likelihood of whether or not being in an enclosed space together would lead to a fight. Out in the forest it was easy enough for one of them to walk away, and at every other inn they'd had separate rooms. Finally Robin shrugged and paid for the room. Guy raised an eyebrow, supposing he should be surprised that his traveling companion had somehow come into money, but then again Robin had vanished for an hour that morning, so he'd probably found some rich snot to rob along the road.

“How quaint,” Guy muttered when they were shown to the room, which was more a closet than anything. Somehow someone had shoved two small cots inside but it left absolutely no room to move, and hardly any to even stand. He took the bed on the left, dropping heavily to the straw mattress as he sighed, toeing his boots off and trying not to think about the blisters he had.

“Do you want anything to eat?” Robin asked, tossing his pack on the bed on the right, stretching his arms over his head. Guy nodded, not bothering to uncover his eyes where he had flung and arm to cover them. Robin left and returned a while later with two bowls of stew and a loaf of bread, tearing it in half and passing part to Guy along with the bowl. They ate in silence, then without a word Robin vanished again, taking the bowls with him. Guy suspected that he was going to listen at keyholes and whatnot to try and hear anything about the sheriff, but honestly he was too tired to care.

Digging around in his back, Guy retrieved a shaving knife he'd picked up a few days before and set about removing the untamable beard that he'd managed to grow, squinting at himself in the sliver of mirror the room provided, along with one dim tallow candle for light, once the sun had set. He'd just finished shaving when Robin appeared in the room again, pausing as he took in the sight before him.

“There's the Gisborne I know and despise,” Robin grinned and Guy threw out a rude hand gesture.

“I am tired of looking like a vagabond. It's the least I can do, since I can do nothing for my hair,” he grumbled. Getting his hair cut meant going to a barber, and there was every chance that he'd be recognized if he did, this close to Nottingham. Robin tilted his head, as if thinking, before he held out his hand for the knife Guy had used to shave.

“How short?” he asked, quirking his fingers when Guy didn't hand over the knife.

“You're going to cut my hair, Hood?” Guy asked, incredulous, staring at Robin in the sliver of mirror he held in his other hand.

“Why not? I've nothing better to do,” he mumbled. “Hand it over, Gisborne, or do you think I'm going to cut your throat?”

“The thought had crossed my mind,” Guy said, flipping the knife around and offering the handle to Robin over his shoulder, not really worried.

“How short?” Robin asked again and Guy shrugged.

“Some. Not as short as it used to be.”

Robin nodded and began to cut. Fifteen minutes later he was done and Guy looked at his hair in the mirror, tugging a piece here and there. Robin had done a decent job, for a thieving outlaw that Guy still didn't really trust with a sharp weapon.

“You're welcome,” Robin said with a laugh when Guy continued to scrutinize his reflection.

“You want I should return the favor?” Guy asked with a grin and Robin backed away, hands raised.

“Oh no, I don't trust you. I remember when we were boys, you put pitch in my hair!”

“You broke my wooden sword,” Guy said loudly, turning to glare at Robin.

“You had six,” Robin pointed out and Guy just glared. Moments so silence passed before they both broke out laughing and Robin shook his head.

“Seriously though,” Guy said. “Do you want it cut?”

Robin tugged on the small ponytail he now sported and shook his head. “It's grown on me,” he grinned and despite doing his utmost to keep his face straight, Guy burst out laughing again, grabbing one of the meager pillows and hurling it at Robin's head.

“You look like an overgrown sheep,” Guy mumbled, ruffling his hair to dislodge the loose strands and glanced at the mirror again, pleased that he looked a bit more himself, but still different enough he wouldn't easily be risking recognition.

“We'll reach Nottingham tomorrow,” Robin said, growing serious as he sat on the bed opposite Guy, turning the small pillow over in his hands.

“Do you have a plan yet?” Guy asked with a raised eyebrow. Robin shrugged.

“Half a plan,” he said, one side of his mouth quirking up.

“I suppose it's better than none of a plan,” Guy shrugged, flopping back and covering his eyes with his arm. Robin chuckled and tossed the pillow back, hitting him in his partially covered face.

**Author's Note:**

> Did you enjoy? Leave a comment and a kudos! Thank you!


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